The campfire crackled behind them, the flames still snapping angrily at the night air as Abdullah writhed weakly on the ground, wrists bound tight with the rope Habeel had used. The forest hummed low and dangerous—an audience holding its breath.
Habeel pressed the knife into Ababeel's palm, his expression unreadable.
His voice was low… steady… but something trembled beneath it.
"He's your culprit," he murmured. "Yours to decide what to do."
Ababeel walked toward Abdullah slowly, each step echoing like the thud of a judge's mallet.
The fire kissed her silhouette, framing her face with shadows.
Abdullah flinched when she crouched in front of him, knife glinting inches from his cheek.
Her stare was colder than the steel she held.
He looked away first.
But instead of striking, she rose.
And she walked back—past him—until she stood beside Habeel again.
Habeel blinked, confused, but before he could ask, Janneh grabbed Habeel's sleeve tightly without a word. Habeel didn't notice at first… then he did notice her tiny, scratched arm.
He crouched to her level instantly.
"You did well," he murmured, tapping her nose. "No more grounding for you."
He inspected the scratch. "And that—yeah, definitely needs a bandage or two."
Ababeel turned, voice calm—too calm.
"We leave him here. Tied. Let the night decide his fate. Whether soldiers find him… animals find him… or he somehow gets free on his own."
Habeel stared at her, stunned.
"That's your decision?"
Before he could blink, Ababeel spun and punched him right in the stomach.
He bent forward with a yelp.
"WHAT was that for—??"
Janneh, arms tiny but enthusiasm enormous, kicked his shin.
Hard.
He squeaked.
Ababeel glared.
"For pretending to be dead, you idiot."
Habeel rubbed his stomach, pouting.
"I was hurt, okay? I just didn't drink that shitty tea he made—I spilt it on the ground."
He wheezed dramatically.
"But I still have trouble breathing. You could show a little sympathy."
No one did.
They packed quickly.
Habeel helped Janneh into the truck, muttering something about "tiny traitors," then slid into the driver's seat with a grunt.
He started the engine, its rumble filling the dark forest, and drove until the trees thinned and the road widened.
Only then did the silence grow strange.
Habeel's fingers tightened around the wheel.
His jaw ticked.
His eyes flickered with thoughts buried too deep.
Ababeel noticed immediately.
"What's bothering you?"
He didn't answer.
Not at first.
He kept driving, eyes shifting from her… to the dark road… and back.
Finally—
"Why didn't you do it? While to me u held the gun straight to my face!" he asked, voice lower now. "Why didn't you punish him? What changed your mind?"
Ababeel looked straight ahead.
Then at him.
"You did."
Habeel slammed the brakes so suddenly that the truck jerked.
"ME??"
His ears turned a faint pink, like he wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended.
She crossed her arms.
"I thought deeply about what you said. And it made sense. I have nightmares because of what I did before. And what you said kept repeating in my head."
Habeel blinked.
"…What did I say?"
She leaned back against the seat, repeating his words softly.
"You said… 'It's a punishment. For you… and the one you give it to.'"
The road ahead darkened.
Habeel cleared his throat, eyes darting away as if the statement held more weight now than when he first said it.
He gripped the wheel again and started driving—pretending the words didn't shake him.
But they both knew they did.